


Before Eternity Starts

by Lauren_Biru



Series: An Eternity [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: 16th Century Spain, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Just a little damaged, M/M, Magnus Bane is adorable, Self-Hatred, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:00:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25352842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauren_Biru/pseuds/Lauren_Biru
Summary: When a vengeful warlock attempts to assassinate Magnus, Alec is thrust hundreds of years into the past.  Once there, the Shadowhunter must save a much younger Magnus in order to get back to the one he loves.  He only hopes that nothing goes wrong—and that the future waiting for him is the same one he left behind.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: An Eternity [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860247
Comments: 28
Kudos: 155





	1. A Corroded Communication

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to dedicate this story to Hazel121617. I love you so much, and I don't know what I'd do without you.

Alec knew he’d never been good with words. 

He was in awe of his husband, who always manipulated words with such ease. Magnus draped his silky suggestions across a person’s shoulders, lifting their arms to do his bidding. The warlock hurled quips, sharp as knives, that cut straight to the heart. His words had _power_ , and they had certainly won over Alec long ago. Alec, who was about as eloquent as a large boulder, felt woefully inadequate in comparison. His words always seemed to get lost in the convoluted maze that was his brain, and he never knew the exact right thing to say at the right time.

Now, lying across from his beautiful husband in the early-morning glow, Alec knew that no words could ever encompass how peaceful he felt. He was home, and he was happy, and he was hopeful. He was hopeful that this was how he’d wake up every day for the rest of his life. 

Beside him, Magnus started to stir. The warlock’s eyes fluttered open and slowly focused on Alec, his slitted pupils like black diamonds in a sea of chartreuse. “Good morning, Alexander,” he said, smiling softly. Magnus’s face was bare of make-up and his hair mussed, making him look impossibly young.

Alec smiled back and leaned forward, Magnus humming contentedly when their lips met.

“I could stay here all day,” Alec declared.

The corner of Magnus’s mouth lifted in a suggestive smirk. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

***

“Toy.”

_“El juguete."_

“Blanket.”

_“La manta."_

Magnus put down the last flashcard in his hand and leaned toward his husband. “You, my love, are getting much better at this.”

Alec sighed and sank back into the couch cushions, as if they would swallow him whole. “I just want to communicate better with my own _son_.”

“You will, but languages take time to learn. Rafael’s English has been improving as well, so you two can meet in the middle,” Magnus said, rising gracefully from the couch. 

“Magnus,” Alec breathed, “thank you.” The warlock had been working hard to bridge the linguistic divide between Alec and Rafael for a while now. Alec could only imagine how much patience that required.

The corners of Magnus’s bright eyes crinkled as he smiled, conveying that he understood what Alec was trying to say. “Of course, Alexander. I’ve enjoyed this. So much so, I think I’ll try teaching you Mandarin next,” he teased. Alec laughed at the thought, and started to rise off the couch, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. His eyes narrowed in confusion when he looked at the message. Then the phone chimed again, and this time, Alec’s eyes rose to meet Magnus’s. There was a hint of fear there. 

“It’s Jace. He’s right outside.” He rushed to collect his gear, darting about the loft like a flighty bird. 

“Alexander, what—”

“Jace says there’s been an emergency. I have to go. Give the kids my love once they get home from my mom’s.” His hands—trembling slightly—moved with practiced precision as he gathered his bow, his arrows, his blade. He was a portrait of contained chaos: beautiful and terrifying.

“Alexander—”

Alec gave Magnus a chaste kiss before turning away again. “I love you,” he said finally, slamming the door shut behind him. It felt as if a hurricane had swept through—and left nothing but desolation in its wake.

“I love you too,” Magnus said quietly. 

The empty loft gave no answer.

***

_Alec, come outside right now._

_It has to do with Magnus._

Alec and Jace raced down the street side by side. “Jace, why did you have to come here? What’s going on?”

“Someone’s left a—um, _message_ for Magnus,” Jace said. 

“A message? Like some sort of threat? Then shouldn’t we be _protecting_ him?” Alec started to turn back to the loft, but Jace placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Alec, Magnus can take care of himself. Besides, I left someone to stand guard outside.” He started forward again, leaving Alec no choice but to follow. “Someone found the message while out on patrol,” Jace explained, “We’ve tried to keep anyone from seeing it. Knowing Magnus’s extensive Downworlder network, someone is bound to tell him.”

“Tell him _what_? Where—?”

“We’re here.”

Three Shadowhunters stood guard outside a decrepit stone building. Jace led Alec to a shadowy side alley beside the structure, where letters jumped out at him like muggers.

MAGNUS BANE, YOU ARE A STAIN ON THIS WORLD

I LOOK FORWARD TO CLEANSING IT

TONIGHT

The words were written on the side of the building in red, bold strokes. Paint, obviously, but ominous all the same. Fear wrapped its icy fingers around Alec’s heart and squeezed, making his breath come out in tiny gasps of air. The thought of a world without Magnus—a world _cleansed_ of Magnus—was a world too bleak to imagine. The hate pouring out of those words, red and fiery and _palpable_ , slowly made its way into Alec’s veins, coursing through his body with a simmering heat. It melted away the fear that froze his limbs and left nothing behind but burning resolve. There was no doubt that he would kill anyone who tried to harm Magnus. And he would not regret it.

“Who did this?” Alec asked. His voice sounded cold. _How can that be true,_ he wondered, _when I am burning up on the inside?_

“A warlock who goes by the name Vorago Rex,” Jace said, his fist tightening by his side. His _parabatai’s_ pain was his pain (and his _parabatai’s_ anger, his anger). “We’re still trying to find where he is.” He looked up at where the sun was approaching the horizon.

“So we just wait?” Alec asked, incredulous in the face of inaction.

“We shouldn’t have to wait long,” Jace pointed out. “The sun is setting, and this warlock is sure to make his move soon.” 

Jace’s prediction proved to be prophetic, as a young Shadowhunter rushed to meet them mere minutes after the sun had disappeared from the darkening sky. Apparently, Rex had been spotted a block east of their current location, near a mundane drug den. Alec barely heard the end of the phrase before he broke into a run, savoring the feeling of hard pavement beneath his soles. Adrenaline coursed through his veins like rocket fuel, and his body thrummed with the power lurking under the surface of his skin. 

Alec heard the warlock before he saw him. A deep, singsong voice wafted on a breeze that compelled the Shadowhunter forward, and it was only Jace’s calloused fingers wrapping around his wrist that pulled him back from the edge and prevented him from turning the corner to face the waiting warlock. Jace shot him a warning glance before quickly drawing a pair of runes on his _parabatai’s_ skin. Reaching for his seraph blade, Jace’s eyes once again met Alec’s; but this time, Alec saw only unwavering trust within that gaze: fierce, brazen, and bathed in gold. Together, they stepped out of the shadows.

Vorago Rex shone like a lonely star in the night, standing inside a glowing circle of demonic runes. The warlock was pale—practically translucent—and his pallor was only amplified by the white strands of hair that framed his gaunt face. His skin was pulled tight over his cheeks—so much so that his zygomatic bones seemed a hairsbreadth from pushing through the delicate skin. Bright green eyes gleamed from within his skeletal frame, catching the light from the iridescent scales that encircled his arms and peeped out from beneath his shirt collar. An old book with a faded cover was cradled in his left arm, while a curved blade was clenched in his other hand.

The warlock chuckled, the sound escaping from his mouth before being swallowed by the oppressive night air. His smug smile failed to reach his eyes though, which seemed startlingly empty for all their brightness.

“Shadowhunters,” Vorago growled, as if the word itself were sinful.

“What do you want with Magnus?” Alec’s arrow was already notched and aimed at the warlock’s head.

Vorago’s eyes narrowed as he replied: “Magnus Bane is a traitor to his people. Shadowhunters are harbingers of death, yet you dress in angels’ skin and disguise your bloodlust as gallantry. Your _kind_ murdered my wife twenty years ago and didn’t even have the decency to take her corpse off the street.

“By consorting with your people, Bane has gotten into bed with murderers,” and at this, he sneered, “quite literally, I might add.”

Jace started forward, intent on defending his _parabatai’s_ “honor,” but Alec barred him with his arm. Something about Rex’s diatribe against Magnus—his pure _hatred_ —hadn’t felt right, especially considering his criticism seemed largely centered on Shadowhunters. 

“This is revenge,” Alec realized. 

The warlock’s eyes narrowed, and his fingers tightened around the scythe. “Bane shut down my business,” he said bitterly. “I was successful and I had power, but he destroyed my livelihood and left me with _nothing_.” Alec racked his brain for anything of importance. Magnus did not have time for trivial matters, so he wouldn’t have stepped in if it wasn’t necessary… 

“You ran a Downworlder trafficking ring,” Alec ventured, a memory from months ago tickling the back of his mind. “You smuggled werewolf children for profit.”

Jace’s face screwed up in disgust. “Wow, what a dick,” he muttered.

“Magnus shut down the organization, but he said the ringleader was never caught,” Alec continued. “That’s you.”

Vorago Rex smiled in reply. “That’s me. But don’t worry, I’m going to erase Magnus Bane from this world—regaining my prestige and enacting my _delicious_ revenge. All of Downworld will be better off… not that they’ll ever get to thank me.”

“How are you going to do that?” Alec asked, genuine curiosity bleeding into his tone. He needed to stall until reinforcements could arrive, but he also wanted to make sure the warlock had no contingency plan in the face of his capture—or death.

“I am going back to a time when the _great_ Magnus Bane was vulnerable and weak. It took a surprising amount of coercion and, um, _torture_ , but I now know where—and when—I need to go.” The warlock lifted his book and flipped to a page, starting to murmur in an unknown language.

Alec returned his arrow to the quiver and rushed forward. Vorago, not to be interrupted, shot out his hand and threw the two Shadowhunters backwards with a blast of green magic—with Alec’s bow blown several meters away. Alec got back on his feet with a groan and ran to intercept the chanting warlock. He secured a firm grip on the book and got a fleeting glance at the title: _The Book of Aion_ , but he failed to see the arc of the blade in Vorago’s other hand. The scythe cut through his shoulder at the same time the warlock finished his incantation with a triumphant cry. Alec felt the blade slice open skin and muscle as the world started to fold around him. Flashing colors and piercing sounds overwhelmed his senses, and his stomach made a valiant attempt to climb up his esophagus. Air rushed past his ears with the velocity of a freight train, nearly separating his skin from the trembling bones underneath.

Then, as suddenly as the cacophony of chaos began, it ended—and the world grew cold and dark, enveloping Alec in its quiet eternity.

**  
  
  
**


	2. In the Eyes of a Stranger, I Saw You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to 16th Century Spain!

Alec awoke with a start, and his grasping hands violently pulled out handfuls of grass as he jerked upright. The sun shone alarmingly bright, assaulting his eyes with its merciless rays and forcing them closed once more. The Shadowhunter also noticed that a sledgehammer had taken to pounding the inside of his skull, and he felt the warning twinge of nausea that preceded a surge of rising bile. 

The contents of his stomach having been unceremoniously dumped onto the grass, Alec slowly lifted his eyelids. As alertness and memory crept back into his mind, they began to overpower the thud of the offending sledgehammer, and Alec was able to properly take in the surrounding landscape. Alec sat atop a large hill that was encompassed by a cascading sea of turf; tall trees dotted the land and reached their branches up toward the sun, even as their roots dug deeper underground. The vast expanse of green was only marred by a man-made dirt path that snaked down the hill and through the trees—and another puddle of vomit encircled by unfamiliar footsteps.

_They must belong to Vorago Rex…_

The warlock had cast a spell and brought them here (wherever _here_ was), and his sinister words came back to Alec all at once:

_“I am going back to a time when the_ great _Magnus Bane was vulnerable and weak… I now know where—and when—I need to go.”_

The words rattled around in Alec’s head like loose change. _Could the warlock really have been talking about travelling through time? Was that even possible?_

In the past few years, Alec had quickly learned to scrub the word _impossible_ from his vocabulary—its meaning becoming more and more obsolete with each misuse. As he was coming to terms with the viability of literal (impossible) time travel, he suddenly remembered Jace. Scrambling to his feet, Alec reached inward for the _parabatai_ bond and felt… cold. The bond—normally a pulsing, living _thing_ beneath his skin—felt silent and dormant and still. It was not the harsh detachment of death, which Alec had felt once before, but the lachrymose aching that arose from immeasurable distance.

His sudden movement had caused his shoulder to flare up in pain. The open wound from Rex’s blade dripped blood, thick and hot, down his arm. Alec pulled out his stele and drew a healing rune with unsteady fingers, feeling the skin of his shoulder slowly knit itself back together. He then pulled out his phone, in the blind hope that he was wrong and that Jace was only a call away, but the words No Service stared up at him instead. Sighing, he started down the path in pursuit of the retreating footsteps.

***

The sound of chatter spurred Alec to move faster and as he crested the last hill, he beheld a sprawling Shadow Market. The Market sat in the shadow of a mundane town, glamoured into invisibility. By just glancing at the dwellings, which stood proud despite their obvious decrepitude, Alec knew he’d landed in the wrong century. And the wrong continent. 

Inside the Market, warlocks milled about with baskets of spices, spellbooks, and talismans; werewolves peddled hulking carcasses; and faeries sold miracles from within colorful silk tents. The sound of rapid Spanish assaulted his senses, and Alec grasped words and phrases out of the air like he was picking apples. The Market was bright and loud and chaotic—but as soon as Alec stepped a foot onto the cobblestones, the atmosphere seemed to shift. A werewolf woman hugged her cradled child closer to her chest and scurried away, passing a warlock with his head bowed and shoulders hunched. Out of the corner of his eye, Alec saw tents’ flaps close, shrouding their occupants from view; one werewolf boy broke out into an all-out run, only looking behind to let out a frightened squeak. 

Alec guessed his status as a Shadowhunter wasn’t exactly subtle.

The Shadowhunter continued forward—this time with his head lowered, in a feeble attempt to look less intimidating. He scanned the crowd for the pale skin and bright scales that belonged to Vorago Rex, but his efforts were in vain. Alec had been about to ask for the help of a purple-skinned warlock, who looked neither resentful nor alarmed by his presence, when a familiar melodic voice reached his ears and stopped him in his tracks. He looked up and, in that moment, suddenly forgot how to breathe. It was Magnus—irrevocably, inconceivably _Magnus_ —but a stranger all the same. 

The warlock looked younger, at the most fourteen. Magnus had less than a decade left before he’d stop aging, and he was clearly recognizable; but for Alec, this felt like a blow to the chest. Magnus’s face, underneath all of the make-up and glitter, had always been the same. He was consistent, an everlasting constant in a sea of changing tides. Seeing the warlock so young and vulnerable made Alec realize just how far from home he was. How far he was from the man he loved.

The earth had shifted off its axis, leaving Alec stumbling and unbalanced, but no one else seemed to notice. 

Young Magnus Bane was talking animatedly to a towering werewolf, the remnants of an accent infusing his Spanish with a warm hue. He was dressed in a dirty white shirt that reached his knees and long brown pants that dragged on the ground; his feet were bare. Magnus’s hair was uncharacteristically unruly and he was shorter, but the most apparent changes were written across the warlock’s face. His face looked impossibly young ( _and adorable_ ) and his bright, slitted eyes no longer held the pain of centuries within their gaze. This was a Magnus that had not yet stared into the unforgiving jaws of eternity, had not yet realized the toll time could take. 

And while Alec could not understand everything that came out of the warlock’s mouth, he _could_ read the sign written above Magnus’s stall in his elegant script:

_Magnus Bane, 100-Year-Old Warlock_

Alec would have laughed if his world weren't crashing down around him.

When Alec looked back down at Magnus’s face, the warlock’s eyes had found his own. For a moment, those eyes were wide with shock and a hint of fear—making Alec’s heart feel as if it were being crushed within his chest. Then, the warlock’s expression cooled, and he shooed the werewolf off with a graceful wave of his hands— _at least some things were the same—_ and beckoned Alec over. 

Magnus eyed Alec expectantly, his silent question clear: _what do you want, Shadowhunter?_ Alec gulped.

“Hola… me llamo… Alexander.” Alec realized, a second too late, that using his real name was probably not one of his better ideas. In truth, the Shadowhunter was still astronomically overwhelmed. Alec had dealt with a lot during his lifetime, but realizing you’d travelled through time was still _very_ different from seeing the incontrovertible proof with your own eyes.

Magnus just narrowed his eyes, running his gaze up and down Alec’s frame in overt appraisal. “You speak English?” he asked hesitantly, his words heavily accented.

Alec sighed in relief and sent up a silent thanks to Raziel.

“Yes! Yes, I speak English. I… well, I need you to come with me. I think your life is in danger.”

Magnus lifted an eyebrow, appearing understandably skeptical, but Alec’s words rang true. Looking at this child that would one day be the High Warlock of Brooklyn, Alec would’ve had to be blind not to see Vorago Rex’s plan: not to kill Magnus, no—his plan was to erase him from existence, to change the course of history with a single shot.

Or in other words: his plan was to destroy Alexander Lightwood's entire world. 

Alec had other plans.

***

The Shadowhunter didn’t know how long the staring contest between himself and Magnus lasted. He wasn’t sure if the warlock was trying to understand what he had said, or if he just thought Alec was completely crazy. Before he could ask, though, a shout shook the Market.

“MAGNUS BANE.”

A large warlock with spiral horns barrelled his way through the crowd and Magnus paled, his brown skin going ashen within seconds. Alec could only guess that the majority of what spewed from the incoming warlock’s mouth was a plethora of creative obscenities. However, he was able to pick out one word that stood out above the rest: _thief_. 

Magnus jumped over the front of his stall and took off running, a startled Alec trailing close behind. As he was passing another stand, Magnus plucked a small, orange fruit from its pile and took a large bite. He looked back and gave Alec a smirk before continuing forward once more. Magnus fled through the Market on swift feet, using large tents and stalls to shield himself from view. In a matter of minutes, they had exited the Market and entered the mundane town—no vengeful warlock in sight. 

Magnus ran through the streets, his bare feet slapping against the ground. _Someone needs to get this kid a pair of shoes,_ Alec thought to himself. He then reminded himself that _this kid_ was actually his future husband, and he decided to first focus on the task at hand. 

The warlock stopped in front of a looming, run-down church, the half-eaten fruit still clenched in his hand. He took another bite and stared up at Alec, a challenge glinting in his eyes.

“The man who owns that fruit stand is…” Magnus scrunched up his nose, which made him look both disgusted _and_ adorable. “He is not a nice man.” 

“And the warlock with horns?” Alec asked. He was surprised, and slightly amused, by Magnus’s apparent need to justify his actions to a complete stranger. 

At this, Magnus smiled. “He is the owner of the Market,” is all he said. The warlock looked up at the church spires, a wistful expression shadowing his face; but when his gaze lowered to rest on Alec, his eyes were guarded once more. 

“Why did you follow me?” he asked, wariness creeping back into his tone.

Alec considered crafting an intricate lie, but he knew Magnus wouldn’t be fooled. Lying had never been his forte, and when confronted with Magnus’s piercing eyes—those eyes that had the innate ability to peel back Alec’s skin and see the soul beneath, naked and defenseless—Alec didn’t stand a chance. There was no doubt that whatever he said next, it needed to be rooted in the truth.

Alec took a bracing breath, opening his mouth to speak before he even knew what was going to come out. “Well, there’s a warlock who… wants to _hurt_ you. I followed him from the, um, well… I know this sounds crazy… but I’m _not_ crazy, I promise. I, um, followed him from the future.”

Magnus blinked owlishly at him, clearly not having expected the strange Shadowhunter to be a total nutjob. Alec rushed to rectify the situation—or exacerbate it, depending on your perspective.

“I’m here to protect you because, in the future, we’re… _friends_. Yes, that’s it, _best friends_.” 

Magnus blinked again, but his eyes had narrowed suspiciously. Alec didn’t know if it was because he’d noticed the Shadowhunter’s overemphasis of the word _friends_ , or if the mere thought of a Shadowhunter and warlock being _best friends_ was just too outlandish to contemplate. _Imagine if I told him we’re married_ , Alec thought, his internal hysteria rising.

Alec hoped this young Magnus knew some strong memory spells because there was _no way_ Alec wasn’t royally fucking up the timeline.

_Focus on one problem at a time. First, protect Magnus from the megalomaniac who wants to kill him. Next, figure out a way to get home._ **_Then_** _, worry about how your ineptitude could very well be tearing apart the fabric of space and time._

When Alec brought himself back from his internal panic attack, Magnus was still staring up at him. _At least he hasn’t run away yet. That’s got to count for something._ Maybe it was Magnus’s lingering belief in the impossible that kept him rooted to the spot—or maybe he was just too curious to turn away. Regardless, Alec was grateful.

“I come from the year—” 

“No!” Magnus interrupted vehemently, his hand reaching out to grasp Alec’s arm. His eyes then widened further, and he quickly pulled away, as if Alec’s skin burned to the touch.

The Shadowhunter struggled to process everything that had just happened. Magnus obviously didn’t want to know _when_ Alec came from, perhaps because he was unwilling to solidify the truth of his own immortality. This Magnus was still desperately clutching the last vestiges of his _normality_ , too scared to think about what came next.

Alec refocused his gaze on Magnus and saw fear. He was afraid of… _Alec_ , of Alec’s reaction to being _touched_. For a second, Alec only saw his son, Rafael—another child hurt by the cruel world of adults. He could recognize a maltreated child when he saw one, and the thought made him want to burn the world down until all the monsters in it were dead. He wanted everyone who had ever hurt Magnus Bane to _suffer_. But even as his heart was breaking, Alec tried to make himself smaller and less intimidating. 

“It’s okay, Magnus. I promise I’m not going to harm you,” he said softly.

Confusion flickered across the warlock’s face, but it quickly disappeared, replaced by a cold mask. “I would like to see you try,” Magnus hissed, blue sparks dancing threateningly around his fingertips. 

As a child, Magnus was only just beginning to construct his armor. One day, Alec would have the privilege of breaking down Magnus’s walls, of seeing what lay beyond. Now though, Alec worried that his armor was the only thing keeping the young warlock from shattering.

Alec backed up a step, his hands raised in surrender. “I get it, you can protect yourself. But there’s a dangerous, much older warlock who wants to hurt you. You’ll need all the protection you can get.”

The blue sparks died away, and some of the tension escaped from the warlock’s shoulders. Magnus muttered something to himself in a language Alec couldn’t understand; then, seemingly having come to a decision, he faced the Shadwhunter once more.

“Well then, Shadowhunter,” Magnus said, gesturing to the crumbling church behind him. “Welcome to my home.”

***

Alec followed Magnus through a side door, after having insisted the warlock call him _Alec_ and not _Shadowhunter_. They found themselves in a small stone room, in which a pallet sat beside a meager pile of clothes in the corner—a _keris_ , its blade curved and patterned, peeking out from beneath the folds of fabric. The room smelled musty, and when Alec reached out a hand to touch the wall, his fingers came away slightly damp.

“This is a Silent Brother stronghold. They are not known for their hospitality,” Magnus explained.

Alec thought it looked more like a prison cell than a room; he said as much.

Magnus shrugged in response. “It is better than the streets,” he said, the certainty of experience in his voice making Alec’s heart hurt.

Suddenly, the sound of squeaking door hinges filled the room. Alec turned, whispering _Gabriel_ to activate his seraph blade, and moved forward swiftly to block Magnus with his body. He could feel the warlock’s gasp of surprise from behind him.

The door slowly opened to reveal a seemingly middle-aged warlock with horns, neatly combed white hair, and green skin. The warlock dropped the basket he was holding as soon as he saw Alec—and the seraph blade that was aimed at his head. Alec, for his part, lowered his arm and gaped at the older man.

“Ragnor?”


	3. To Fear the Life (You Think) You Deserve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter deals with Magnus's traumatic past. I mention both suicide and abuse.

Ragnor Fell stared at the scene with wide, confused eyes. That confusion, however, was quickly morphing into anger.

“Who are you, and how do you know my name? Magnus, has this man done you harm? I swear, Shadowhunter, if you hurt a hair on his head—” Ragnor spluttered, starting forward.

Magnus stepped out from behind Alec. “Ragnor, I am unharmed. This Shadowhunter wishes to help me.” Magnus then turned to Alec. “This is Ragnor Fell… but you seem to already know that. He is my _guru pribadi_ , my mentor—and the reason why I had to learn English,” Magnus griped, his face screwing up in mock disgust—a valiant attempt at dissipating the anxiety in the room. 

Ragnor rolled his eyes fondly, but the tension still hadn’t left his body. “I was called in to help Magnus control his magic and to… _assess_ his powers. Now, Shadowhunter, the real question is: what is _your_ business here?”

“There’s a warlock who wants to kill Magnus. I’m here to protect him,” Alec explained. “All I want to do is ensure his safety, take care of the threat, and then go home.”

“And where is home?”

“Far away.”

Ragnor scoffed. “What’s your name? You seem to already know mine, so it only seems fair.”

“Alec.” 

The warlock raised an expectant eyebrow. “Surname?”

“Lightwood.” _Lightwood-Bane_. Apparently, even his seemingly abundant honesty had its limits.

Ragnor’s eyes narrowed. _Ah, so the Lightwoods have a reputation in this century. Fantastic._

“What is the name of this warlock?” Ragnor asked. Alec noticed that Magnus had moved to stand beside the green-skinned man. Ragnor unconsciously moved forward in an attempt to shield the younger warlock, but Magnus just rolled his eyes and stepped aside.

“His name is Vorago Rex.” At Ragnor’s blank look, Alec continued: “He has pale skin, shiny scales, and purple eyes. He’s also from… far away.”

A flicker of recognition appeared in Ragnor’s eyes. “I heard a rumor that a strange warlock asked the vampire Gavril Albescu for sanctuary.”

“Where does he live?” Alec asked.

“The old, abandoned almshouse. Magnus knows the one. He—”

Without warning, an explosion shook the building, causing Alec’s teeth to rattle angrily in his head. Ragnor stumbled, gripping the wall to steady himself, and frowned at the dust raining down. 

“What ha—?”

“We’re under attack!” Alec swore under his breath. “Vorago must have found us… I’ll handle him.”

“No,” Ragnor sighed, stepping forward. “Take Magnus away from here. I can deal with this.” 

Magnus turned confused eyes to his mentor, opening his mouth to argue, but Ragnor shook his head and whispered something in the teen’s ear. Magnus muttered to himself in an unfamiliar language and then stalked off toward the door, sharing one last look with Ragnor before disappearing through the frame. The Shadowhunter considered staying to fight—in the hope that he could end this once and for all—but he needed to keep Magnus safe first and foremost and decided that he couldn’t afford to let the young warlock out of his sight. 

Alec turned to follow Magnus, but he was suddenly jerked back by Ragnor. The emerald-skinned warlock leaned close and lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Tread with caution, Lightwood,” Fell hissed. “Magnus Bane is not one of your _pets_. And he will never become one of those _trophies_ you Shadowhunters love to hang on your walls.”

Alec’s stomach roiled at the implication, and all he could do was gape. But before the Shadowhunter could even think to respond, Ragnor turned away. Alec—feeling more than a little nauseous—turned as well, following Magnus into the descending night.

***

Street lights filled with flickering candles fought off the encroaching darkness, which was slowly covering the town in a blanket of ink. The night stubbornly held onto some of the day’s sticky heat, and Alec’s dark hair lay plastered to his forehead. A tall vampire strode by, dark blood coating the bottom half of his pale face and dripping down to the street below; feeling Alec’s gaze on him, the vampire turned, smirked, then licked his lips. Alec quickly tore his eyes away and walked faster. 

Magnus was the first to break the surrounding silence. “How are you planning on getting home?” he asked.

Alec sighed and told Magnus how he planned on finding Vorago’s spellbook, _The Book of Aion,_ and using it as leverage—how he hoped Rex had left it behind with the vampire. And after that, for a few more moments, they continued on in comfortable silence, letting the night wash over them in gentle waves. But Magnus’s next question, when it finally came, didn’t catch Alec off guard. He had been expecting it for some time now. 

“What is it like in the future?” 

“Well,” Alec replied. “It’s… a lot more high-tech.” Magnus’s only reply was a blank look, so Alec decided to continue. 

“It’s also more progressive. Relations between Shadowhunters and Downworlders have improved, and the world as a whole is a lot more… _accepting_. We still have a long way to go, and the world is far from perfect, but we’ve made progress. There are a lot of people who see our flaws and try to fix them, instead of simply living with the status quo. It gives me hope for the next generation.” 

Magnus smiled at that. “You have a family,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

“Yes. I have a—well, I’m married. And we have two kids. I also have a little sister who’s smarter than I could ever hope to be and a best friend who I couldn’t live without.” 

Magnus’s smile turned sad, and his eyes glistened. “That… sounds amazing.” 

Alec, in that moment, remembered the warlock’s lost family: his mother, who killed herself in shame, and his stepfather, who tried to drown his own stepson out of anger. And all at once, Alec saw red, as he was struck with the sudden desire to let the world burn, to watch the ashes fall around him. _How could a world so beautiful also be so cruel?_ Then the sudden flare of anger faded to a dull throb, replaced by a hollow sadness that hurt just as much. 

“Magnus, I know it may not seem that way now—but you have love in your future. You have a family, and friends, and more people who love you than you could ever know what to do with.”

The warlock surreptitiously lifted his sleeve to wipe at the tear escaping down his cheek, and Alec looked away, letting silence reign once more.

The two continued walking for a while and in that time, Magnus’s mask slowly settled back onto his face—until the vision of a crying child had faded to a distant memory. Alec could only guess at the thoughts swirling around the warlock’s mind, but his expression seemed to have darkened. Almost as if he were steeling himself for what was to come. 

After an indefinite amount of time, the warlock stopped abruptly and tilted his head upward, so that his face was illuminated by the pale moon; Alec followed his gaze. A brown, decaying almshouse loomed before them, the grime caked on its windows visible even from a distance. Two chimneys adorned its roof, which was laden with moss and seemed to sag under the weight of the sky. 

“This is where Albescu lives,” Magnus said, before striding forward and giving the weathered door three sharp knocks. Several minutes passed, and Alec was beginning to doubt that anyone actually lived on the property. _Well, vampires aren’t technically_ living _things, so…_

The door creaked open, effectively pulling Alec out of his thoughts. A pale man with styled black air and wide, dark eyes greeted them with a sneer, his hospitality nearly knocking Alec off his feet.

“Go away. You cannot enter,” he growled, not bothering to hide the vitriol in his voice. Alec sighed and opened his mouth to argue, hoping that the situation could be handled with a hint of diplomacy. 

Magnus, apparently, had other plans.

“I would reconsider,” he said darkly, conjuring two balls of blue flame and allowing them to hover above his palms, illuminating the night sky like twin supernovas. Alec turned to Magnus in surprise—but the warlock either didn’t notice Alec’s shock or simply refused to acknowledge it, because his gaze never wavered. 

The vampire’s eyes narrowed. “How dare you come to my home and threaten me?! I am not afraid of you, little warlock.”

Magnus smiled, and the coldness of it sent chills racing down Alec’s spine. “Maybe you should be.”

Albescu snarled, showing off needle-like incisors, and Alec felt his hand creeping toward his seraph blade, fingers twitching over the hilt—but, surprisingly, the vampire stepped aside instead. 

Beyond the door, the benevolent nature of the almshouse had been corrupted, becoming a gross, perverted imitation of its intended charity. Its walls were cracked, bleeding cockroaches onto the floor, and the shadows of rats danced merrily in its dim light. Large stains decorating the walls, floor, and ceiling looked dark and ominous in the night, with only lighted candles betraying their presence—but Alec shivered when he thought about what those same stains might look like in the candid light of day. 

Alec asked for Albescu to show him where Vorago Rex was staying, and the vampire led them to a small room with a dusty bed, giving them a glare as he departed. Alec began scouring the room for Vorago’s spellbook, and he saw that Magnus was doing the same. Magnus looked calm again, and slightly sad, as if the violent warlock on the doorstep had been a different person entirely. _It’s like someone flipped a lightswitch,_ Alec noted _._

“Hey, Magnus.” The warlock looked up, his hands stilling over the rumpled blankets.

Alec continued: “That was very… _impressive_. Y’know, convincing Albescu to let us in like that.”

Magnus only shrugged. “I bear the gifts of the damned,” he said softly.

Alec gaped at the young warlock, straightening up. His response came out as a strangled cry, harsh in the quiet room. “Damned? Magnus, you are far from damned.” 

The warlock looked incredulous.

“I killed my father _and_ my mother. Can you honestly imagine any greater sin?” Magnus asked, shaking his head slightly. “Shadowhunter, Hell was built for people like me—people with the Devil’s mark.” He then turned back to Alec, with eyes as cold as sleet. “And I expect to _burn_.”

***

The world skidded to a stop, and Alec felt like a bomb had gone off—yet only he could feel the ash raining down, coating his throat and filling his lungs.

“Th-That wasn’t your real father,” Alec eventually stuttered out, before mentally slapping himself. _Really, Alec? That’s what you’re choosing to tackle here?_

Magnus merely blinked, as if he too were baffled by Alec’s ineptitude. “You are… quite right. I am _actually_ the progeny of a literal _demon_. That does seem to improve matters, does it not?” 

_Wait until he finds out he’s the son of a literal Prince of Hell,_ Alec thought blithely.

“You didn’t kill your mother,” the Shadowhunter said instead. “That wasn’t your fault.”

Magnus nodded, but he didn’t seem convinced. And looking at this child, so different from the bold man he would grow to be, Alec was reminded that self-confidence was not inherited. It needed to be nurtured, and it was not to be found in the cold hallways of heartless households, where bruises only healed on the outside. Sometimes it was learned, practiced, and forged into a weapon for the vulnerable to wield until they didn’t feel so vulnerable any more. So that jibes and slurs bounced off, unable to create new scars, and so that rejection—with its power to rend the fragile skin of a heart to shreds—was brushed aside, as if it had never had any power at all.

Alec was reminded of himself as a kid, so broken and afraid of loving who he wanted to love, and he realized that Magnus needed to begin that same journey. The long and hard journey to accepting yourself, mistakes and all.

He kneeled down to Magnus’s level and took a deep breath. “Magnus, one day, people are going to tell you that they love you—and one of these days, you’re actually going to believe them. One day, you will realize that all of the awful things people say about you aren’t true; and one day, someone is going to help you understand that you _are_ redeemable and that you _are_ deserving of happiness. Now, I realize that I’m not that person, and this is not that day. But, Magnus… that day _will_ come. If you don’t believe in anything else, believe in that.”

Something like hope shone on the warlock’s face and to Alec, it felt like a start. Then Magnus looked down, and Alec followed his gaze to the spellbook gripped in the warlock’s hands. “I found it,” Magnus said simply. Alec hadn’t even noticed.

“Great, now we just have to lay a trap,” Alec replied, begrudgingly allowing the change of subject. He didn’t _want_ this conversation to end. He wanted his words to heal Magnus’s heartache and guilt, to end the eternal torment he’d trapped himself in—but the warlock’s eyes were glassy and frightened, and Alec knew that now was not the time to push. Besides, if everything went well, this Magnus wouldn’t even remember he’d ever met Alec. And that knowledge—sudden and unwelcome—felt like a blow to the chest, surprising Alec with how much it _hurt_ , but he pushed the pain aside. He couldn't afford to feel this pain right now; he had a job to do. So the Shadowhunter sighed and explained how he planned on subduing Vorago when he arrived, watching as Magnus flipped through the spellbook’s pages.

“This is it!” the warlock eventually exclaimed. “This is the spell. Now, we need to fi—”

“Ah, not so fast,” a silky voice crooned. Vorago Rex emerged from the dim doorway with a smirk, the pale figure of Gavril Albescu looming behind him like a ghost.

“Magnus Bane! Alexander Lightwood!” the warlock greeted, as if he were meeting long-lost friends. 

“Did you miss me?”


	4. The Effacing Tide

Magnus started forward. “Where is Ragnor? Did you hurt him?” the warlock asked fearfully.

“Relax, Bane,” Vorago jeered, before continuing, “He’s not the one I want.” 

Magnus relaxed slightly, but his fists were still clenched—and Alec was reminded of a frightened animal, eager to pounce at a moment’s notice. Vorago advanced toward the two of them, and the air crackled with tension and the restless magic thrumming beneath the warlocks’ skin. But as the warlock came closer, Alec realized that his vampire companion had disappeared, his pale face no longer visible amongst the shadows. _Was he a coward or—?_

“Kneel,” Vorago demanded suddenly, and Alec’s head snapped back to look at him. But the warlock paid him no heed, as he only had eyes for Magnus. “I want you to kneel.”

Magnus lifted his chin defiantly, his silence louder than any retort, and Rex snarled. He pushed out his arm and Magnus yelped as he went down, his bony knees hitting the stone floor with a thud. 

“The great Magnus Bane, down on his knees in front of me,” Vorago sneered. 

Alec could imagine that his Magnus would have come up with some quick-witted retort, some innuendo. But the Magnus he knew was centuries away, and his husband’s younger self remained stonily silent.

“You look so young and _weak_ , so inexperienced and _fragile_ ,” Vorago drawled, licking his lips slowly—as if Magnus were a particularly delicious snack. It made goosebumps crawl across Alec’s skin.

“At least I’m not senile,” Magnus bit out, and Alec snorted before he could stop himself.

Vorago growled in response and flung a wave of magic at the kneeling child, who was scrabbling to get up. Magnus hurriedly threw out a protective shield, and the offensive magic bounced off harmlessly. Through all of this, the spellbook, which Vorago was eyeing hungrily, remained clenched tightly in Magnus’s hand; and while Vorago was busy trying to weaken the younger warlock’s shield, Alec lunged forward. He pulled an arrow out of his quiver— _oh, how he missed his bow—_ and stabbed it into the warlock’s shoulder. Vorago wailed, his arms flailing outward, and Alec felt long fingernails leave thin, bloody scratches across his cheek. He quickly unsheathed his seraph blade, using its hilt to strike Vorago’s skull, and watched the warlock crumple to the ground in a boneless heap.

Vorago’s curved blade had been in the bag slung over the warlock’s shoulder, but it clattered to the ground when the warlock fell, the sound of steel meeting stone echoing loudly in the room. Magnus dissolved his magical barrier, which Alec noticed was much thinner than it had been at the beginning of Vorago’s assault, and looked up at the Shadowhunter with wide eyes. By the droop of his shoulders, Alec could tell the young warlock was exhausted—but they needed to work fast if he was going to get home. Alec figured tying up Vorago would be futile, so he settled with silently keeping vigil over the unconscious warlock while Magnus read over the spell.

“I—this part, I do not fully understand,” Magnus confessed, “but I think I can perform the spell. I need to go to the Market to—”

“No way,” Alec protested. “We can’t leave Vorago here, and I won’t let you go alone.”

Magnus opened his mouth to argue, but then stopped—perhaps realizing that Alec would not change his mind. However, realization soon dawned on his features, before defeat could take hold. Magnus started toward the comatose warlock and knelt down, rifling through his pockets. He then let out a triumphant yelp, pulling out a velvet bag and showing it to a very confused Alec.

“It is henbane extract,” he clarified, as if that explained everything.

Seeing the blankness that remained etched on Alec’s features, Magnus continued: “I need it to draw the runes.” He then walked toward Alec and asked for one of his arrows—which the Showhunter handed over warily. With only a slight grimace, Magnus proceeded to run the tip across the palm of his hand, drawing a thin line of dripping blood. Alec’s eyes widened, but Magnus just calmly mixed his blood with the contents of the velvet bag and healed his sliced skin with a quick flash of blue. 

“Dark magic,” Magnus said by way of explanation, shrugging. Kneeling now, the warlock began to draw runes with his finger—consulting Vorago’s spellbook with a keen eye; Alec, completely out of his element, let him work. Long minutes passed, and Alec was beginning to consider hitting Vorago in the head again so that he’d remain unconscious, before Magnus spoke again.

“I am ready.”

Magnus explained how they needed to be in the circle when the spell was completed, so Alec dragged Vorago closer for when the time came. Alec then placed his hand on Magnus’s shoulder—the warlock flinched, but didn’t pull away—and in that moment, a million thoughts flitted through Alec’s mind. _This was it, after all. This was good-bye._ There were a million things he wanted to say. 

But he said none of them.

“The memory spell,” Alec said instead, and for a second, the Shadowhunter thought he detected disappointment in Magnus’s eyes—but it was gone in an instant, and soon forgotten. “You need to forget you ever met me.”

“I will have Ragnor erase my mind,” Magnus promised solemnly. Alec nodded, and the young warlock hefted the large book in his small hands. He began to read, his words losing their stiltedness and gaining rhythm as his confidence grew, his voice becoming bolder. 

Alec, enthralled as he was, failed to notice the body shifting on the floor. And he certainly failed to notice the hand slowly reaching outward, its deft fingers creeping toward the hilt of a fallen blade.

***

Magnus finished the incantation, his voice rising at the very end with the thrill of expectation. But his face fell at the stillness in the air—and Alec’s lingering presence.

“Why did it not work?” he murmured, rather dejectedly, and started flipping pages.

Alec pulled his gaze away from Magnus just in time to see the glint of a knife. The Shadowhunter reached down and wrapped his fingers around the warlock’s wrist, which had been guiding a scythe toward Alec’s ankle. Vorago yelped, wriggling in pain as Alec pinned his arm behind his back and planted his foot between the prone warlock’s sharp shoulder blades. Magnus looked up in surprise, almost dropping the book when he saw the ensuing struggle. 

“You’re missing the final _ingredient_ ,” Vorago snarled. “ _The scythe will reap the time you keep and bring about the nonce,_ ” he recited. Alec put more pressure on the warlock’s back in response, eliciting a groan. Vorago’s fingers were still clenched tightly around the blade, so Alec reached down to— 

“Magnus, no! Don’t do that!” Vorago shrieked. Alec’s head shot upward, his gaze fixed on Magnus—who, it seemed, was not doing anything at all. In Alec’s brief moment of confusion, his grip on the warlock loosened. Vorago took full advantage. The warlock bucked upwards, freeing his hands with a sharp jerk and sending Alec careening back with a blast of magic. Magnus rushed forward, pushing out his own wave of magic.

Vorago fell, but he didn’t stay down long, and he soon started to creep forward—toward Magnus. Magnus, who was kneeling beside the fallen Shadowhunter. Alec’s head felt slightly fuzzy ( _bleeding? concussion?)_ and Magnus looked down in concern, his face weaving in and out of clarity. 

But then Vorago’s face swam into view, large and looming. Alec screamed ( _did anyone hear?)_ and Magnus’s eyes widened, almost comically so. A red stain bloomed across Magnus’s back, leaking slowly downward, as Vorago removed his blade with a horrible squelching noise. Alec roared, his own blade completing its deadly arc—finding its place in Rex’s side. Magnus murmured something unintelligible under his breath, before falling limp in Alec’s arms. 

Then, without warning, the world folded upon itself once more, devolving into a kaleidoscope of color and a mind-numbing cyclone. Alec held Magnus closer to his chest, as if he were a drowning man seeking a lifeline, and waited for the storm to pass. Finally, all at once, the colors faded and the wind died and Alec was no longer drowning. For a second—a wondrous, blissful second—he could breathe again. But then he felt blood, red and slick, run through his fingers, and he heard the unsteady staccato of a heart struggling to keep beating. He looked down at the younger Magnus clutched in his arms, so out of place in modern-day New York, and saw that he was unconscious. All the better, considering the warlock was also bleeding heavily from a wound on his back. 

Alec heard himself call out for help, for Magnus, for _anyone_ —but he couldn’t tell if anybody answered. He felt like he was underwater, the world around him muffled and strange. 

After a while, Alec dully realized that Jace was staring down at him, and he heard his _parabatai’s_ sharp intake of breath, the questions that tumbled out of his mouth. But then—seconds or minutes or hours later, Alec couldn’t tell—another face came into view. Magnus Bane looked down at his husband with weary eyes, smudges of eyeliner visible at their corners, and reached down to take his younger self from Alec’s arms. The Shadowhunter reflexively tightened his grip at first, but he quickly relaxed, letting Magnus gingerly lift the child. Then, with one last concerned look at Alec, the warlock turned and started walking away—his healing magic coming to life in a shower of blue sparks.

Alec watched them go until he couldn't anymore, because the world started tilting… _fading_ … tilting… _fading_ … until there was nothing. Nothing at all.

***

Alec opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the bleariness as he took in his surroundings. A bedroll lay beneath him— _that definitely wasn’t there before—_ and he felt the onset of a headache begin to take hold. Groaning, Alec sat up—and came face to face with his husband, who was sitting beside him and letting his pashmina coat settle in the dust. Magnus leaned closer and reached out a hand to brush Alec’s hair out of his face.

“Good morning, Alexander,” Magnus said teasingly, but his smile didn’t quite reach his sad eyes. Alec winced slightly at the noise and Magnus took notice, sending a small spark racing toward Alec’s temple; and just like that, his burgeoning headache was gone. The Shadowhunter smiled in gratitude.

“I wish you had told me,” Magnus confessed, running long fingers through his styled hair and leaving it in disarray. “Jace told me about what happened before you disappeared, and I learned about what happened _after_ from—when I… looked through my younger self’s memories.”

Alec shifted his head to look around, noting that Jace was standing several feet away; his _parabatai_ gave a small wave, but didn’t come any closer. “Wait, does that mean… ? Is he—?” 

“He’s gone, Alexander,” Magnus said sympathetically. “I healed his injuries, and then I erased his memories and sent him back to Spain—to his time.”

The Shadowhunter nodded mutely. _I never even got to say good-bye. Not properly, at least._

“But he’s okay? Y-You’re okay? What about Rex?” Alec asked.

Magnus took his hands. “I’m perfectly safe. And as for Rex, he can do no more harm,” Magnus promised, gesturing to a spot behind Alec. The Shadowhunter turned to see the prone body of Vorago Rex, his eyes closed, the ground beneath him bloody. 

“I saw what happened in my younger self’s memories. I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Magnus said with a wince.

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re—”

“Alec!” a familiar voice shrieked. Alec turned just in time to see his sister barrelling toward him, Isabelle’s long hair trailing behind. The slight baby bump she sported was an indication of her four months of pregnancy, but it failed to slow her down—especially as she flung herself into her brother’s arms and hit him with a barrage of questions. 

“Jace said you went to the past?! And met little Magnus?! Was he cute? I bet he was cute,” she prodded.

“I’m sorry, man. I tried to hold her off as long as I could,” Jace said, holding up his hands in surrender as he approached. Alec only laughed and held his sister a little tighter.

“It’s fine, I missed you,” Alec replied. “And yes,” he added, “little Magnus was adorable.” 

Magnus let out a small chuckle at that, and his gaze met Alec’s once more. Isabelle, being the perceptive one in the family, noticed the silent exchange and backed up a step.

“I’ll give you two some more time to talk,” she said, before turning and dragging a very confused Jace along with her. _She’s probably going off to yell at someone_ , Alec noted with a twinge of sympathy for the poor soul facing her wrath. He then turned back to his husband.

“I’m sure you have questions.”

Magnus’s mouth quirked in a small smirk. “I do.”

“I have a lot to tell you, and—well, I want to tell it from _my_ perspective.”

Magnus just nodded, and Alec suddenly realized how tired the warlock looked. His shoulders were slumped, and he looked a gentle shove away from keeling over. Alec remembered that his husband had healed his younger self, erased his memories, _and_ performed the spell to travel through time ( _twice_ ).

“Let’s wait until we get home, though,” Alec offered, “I’m tired.” 

Magnus’s eyes shone with gratitude as he stood up. “Sounds like a plan to me,” he said, reaching out a hand to help Alec to his feet.

***

Alec knew he’d never been good with words. But there are some moments in life when you don’t need them. When the joy, or the heartbreak, or the love you feel is never said out loud—because it’s already written all over your face. For Alec, and for Magnus, this was one of those moments. In this moment, silence was enough. So they simply walked—hand in hand—toward the house they had made their home, toward the family they had found, and toward the future that lay waiting. 

And they never looked back—not even when the listless body of Vorago Rex twitched, his eyes opening to watch them go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that when I began writing this story, I fully intended it to end after four chapters, all loose ends tied up with a nice little bow. That... didn't happen. A second part of the series will be coming but it is still very much in the brainstorming/plot mapping stage.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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